


The Star-Lord Special

by sabinelagrande



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Hellboy (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: intoabar, Food, Gen, Implied Drax/Gamora, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Quill is just trying to have breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Star-Lord Special

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fall 2014 round of A Ficathon Goes Into A Bar: Peter Quill goes into a bar and meets... Liz Sherman!

Setting down on Penagos is a beautiful, beautiful thing. Peter has spent a lot of time in a lot of shitholes, and Penagos is such a lovely change. It's a lot like Xandar, clear skies, clean streets, blue water, the works.

But unlike Xandar, it doesn't do extradition treaties.

His favorite place on Penagos is a little tiny diner/bar/strip club, depending on what time you show up. In a guidebook, it'd probably say something like "off the beaten path," which Peter is completely fine with. He doesn't like the beaten path very much. "Beaten" has been the operative word there on several occasions.

The place kind of reminds him of a Pizza Hut, in terms of layout, though there's no pizza involved. There's a game room off to one side, where Rocket is standing on a box in front of a machine that lights up a lot; Groot is by the window, making pleased little Groot noises at seeing some natural light for once; Drax and Gamora have claimed a table and are having meaningful conversations or sexual tension or whatever.

Peter decides he'd prefer the counter to all of them. He could use some time spent not staring at his team. In the past day or two, he's fantasized about strangling all of them at least once.

He doesn't notice until he sits down that there's a group of people at a table in the corner- a woman, a blue guy, and what's either a huge dude in a trench coat or a pile of laundry, Peter can't tell from this angle. He knows they're looking at him, but he's seventy-five percent sure he doesn't have any warrants out right this second, so it's probably okay.

"It's my favorite waitress," Peter says, when the woman behind the counter comes over to him.

He's been coming here long enough that she has that look of affectionate annoyance that a whole lot of women give him. "What are you eating?" she asks, picking up a tablet to punch in his order.

"Could I convince you to whip up a Star-Lord Special?" he asks, smiling winningly.

"I told you, we're not calling it that," she says, rolling her eyes.

"I can't even read whatever language your menu board is in," Peter says. "And anyway, it _is_ my recipe."

She sighs. "Only because I like you," she says, typing it down and walking off to make his breakfast.

The people in the corner stand up, and Peter tenses, wondering if he should just run now and get it over with. He sizes them up instead, trying to decide whether or not to do it. There's a dark-haired woman, who is, y'know, your run-of-the-mill human woman. She has one of those looks like she's always angry and she's always tired of everybody's bullshit; Peter makes an immediate note not to hit on her, because he doesn't need that today. The blue dude looks kinda familiar, like Peter might have seen his kind before; he's not Kree blue, just kinda light blueish-green, and Peter just can't quite place him.

The guy who is not laundry is a class by himself.

He looks, more than anything, like a drawing of the Devil from one of the books his grandmother had in her attic. He's colored to match, and he has a tail, of course, because really, what's a demon without a tail? Now that he's looking at them and has decided they're not weird goggles, Peter thinks the things on his head are the places where horns should be.

Peter has seen a lot of shit in space, but he was still pretty sure the Devil was not an actual thing. He really hopes he can end today still believing that.

The three of them approach Groot, who is waving slightly in his own personal greenhouse over there. He towers over Big Red, which is a definite comfort. Groot is generally very comforting. Peter appreciates that, especially when it leads to him not getting his ass kicked.

"I am Groot?" Groot asks politely.

"We're looking for Peter Quill," the woman says.

"I am Groot," Groot says, nodding encouragingly, extending a branch towards where Peter is sitting. Peter keeps having the "If anybody asks where I am, I'm not here," talk with Groot, but Groot is a surprisingly bad liar for a being that only knows one sentence.

Peter tries to resist the urge to immediately say that it wasn't him, but he isn't entirely sure that's true. He likes to reserve lying for when he actually needs it, because keeping stories straight is a lot of work. He also doesn't bolt when they come over, because, wow, that red guy looks way bigger up close, and he has this enormous thing on his hand- or maybe it _is_ his hand- that Peter wants no part of. 

"Peter Quill?" the woman asks.

"Born and raised," Peter says, because the cat's out of the bag now.

"We need some information," she tells him.

"I either do or don't have it," Peter says, but he sees that humor's not working. He doesn't know how people can look so menacing, so bored, and so sick of everyone's shit at the same time, but that is exactly what these people are.

"We're looking for a powerful object," she says, and he has a sinking feeling. At least twice he's gotten into fights because of exactly this, and it is in every way not his fault. "It's purple, it's smaller than my fist, and you know who has it."

"You are way behind on your information," Peter says, holding up his hands. "It is completely out of my possession, and I don't want it back."

"That's not what she asked you," the red guy says.

"Look, it's really safe," Peter says, in his most calming voice. "It's under government protection, everything is fine, it's not gonna end up on the black market."

"There are governments and governments," the blue guy says.

"Fair enough," Peter says. "But I promise, this one is as good as it gets. No problems at all."

When she comes back from the kitchen, the waitress is looking at all of them warily. She puts down Peter's plate in front of him and promptly bails, which is exactly what Peter would do. The red guy looks down at the plate, then up at Peter. "Are those pancakes?" he asks suspiciously.

"You would think it would be easy to get them, right?" he says, hoping this is his chance to turn the conversation into something that doesn't end with him making physical contact with the big red fist-thing. "But nobody makes pancakes anywhere, and even if they did, nobody would make them like her."

"What's her name?" the red guy asks, as Peter smiles at the waitress.

"I completely forgot," Peter says quietly, still smiling. "You want some pancakes? I can buy you some pancakes. I'm not a bad guy. Today."

"We did not come here for pancakes," the woman says.

"C'mon, Liz," the red guy says, sitting down next to Peter. "When's the last time we got any decent food?"

"We'll all eat some pancakes, and then we'll go somewhere not public and I'll tell you what I know," Peter says. He is absolutely going to run out the back before that happens, but nobody needs to know that right now.

Liz sighs, but she sits down. "I don't want syrup," she says.

"I don't like pancakes," the blue guy says.

"Then order whatever you want," Peter says. "It's on me."

"Good," Rocket says, sitting down on Peter's other side. "You ain't been feeding me right."

Peter sighs. This is going to end up being an expensive way to ditch these people, but he's almost certain it's not going to end in getting his ass whooped.

Everybody loves a guy with pancakes.


End file.
